Joy looked a little worried. "Isn't that uncomfortable?" Yes, it is," I agreed, "It's bondage. This will make her breasts super-sensitive." Okay..." J...y said doubtfully."Don't worry," I told her, "Practitioners of bondage and degradation and sado-masochism call breasts 'fun bags, ' because they're extremely sensitive, but can handle a tremendous amount of abuse. If I told you some of the things I've seen done to titties, you'd probably pee yourself - but ultimately, the women involved weren't. And as your wet pussy is plunged down on my cock, you take the pleasure and play games with the aptitude and intensity. The thrill flows in your circle while you sit mostly stationary thinking about my big dick stuffed thoroughly inside your love hole. You roll your shoulders back and around, and you twist and turn slowly at the waist, angling to get my stern, sizeable stick to ravish more of your sore interior. Gently and easily then, you rock and squeeze my erection that’s caught up inside. I tensed, waiting for the blow to be struck, the bullet to be fired.Instead it was the lightest of touch.Cautiously, I cracked my eyes open to see a young woman smiling down at me with warm, blue eyes and a friendly smile. She held out her hand and relief flooded through me. I wasn't caught. I hesitantly uncurled, grasped her hand, and she gently helped me to my feet. I hugged her gratefully, tears running down my face. I wasn't caught!"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whispered over and. Although it was something they had discussed for years, she realised that fantasy was gradually morphing into reality. Apprehension was slowly being replaced by lust and the shared knowledge that they were both lusting after the same thing.Once the photos had been exchanged, they also learned that the guy was called Michael, a chartered surveyor, slightly older than them at 42. He was single having been divorced for 5 years and was happy with that situation, choosing to keep his life as.